From Russia to Lithuania, a Strawberry

The only Russia I know
is in klubnika – a strawberry
is not the same when I tear
the first layer of red skin
knowing that Russia vanished with
the little seeds the tongue sometimes
touches, certain
words, but in others you don’t have
Russia, although there’s something in the way
my grandfather holds a strawberry
to give me, closing his eyes, both of us
but I know that all the time he is
thinking of me who have never been
to Russia, or to Lithuania, and eat
strawberries as if I were still there